I am so excited to share this post. At various points in my life, the Lord has taken me through seasons of experiential learning in regard to prayer. I have always believed in the power of prayer. I have seen answers to prayer as God provided for my family, growing up on the road and living on support. When I was in my first year of traveling on my own with Life Action (when I was 18), the Lord took me through about 8 months of learning to pray a very specific prayer request and expecting that He would answer, not just hoping He would. This month has been a similar experience.
On October 1st, we contacted AIM about our current support levels in order to update our friends and supporters on our progress. We soon discovered that our numbers were not lining up. We were told that we had 96% of our outgoing support, but our records were showing only about 50%. The bottom line is that the entire portion of our budget designated for a vehicle was not included in the original number. To be honest, our hopes of leaving on schedule in January seemed nearly lost. We were now left with only two months to raise around $17,000 and I tried to begin preparing for a delay in our plans. At the same time, I was trying to think of some way that we could come up with the money on our own - since it seemed God hadn't handled it. I would never have admitted that, but that's sort of how my mind was working.
Then my dear wife and I began to talk. I am convinced that this is one of the reasons that God brought us together (and why he brings any man and woman together). At times when I am down or I lose focus, God will use Abby to say something that gets me back on track, or vice-versa. So we say, "I guess we need to pray really hard this month." One of us says, "Well, let's pray for something specific; specific prayers get specific answers, right?" "OK, then let's just pick a number." So one says, "Let's pray for $10,000 this month." The other says, "Whoa. I was thinking something more realistic, like half of what's left." The one says, "Why? Is there like a limit for how much we can ask for?" We chuckle at the reality of that statement. I mean we're at God's mercy anyway, right? He owes us nothing. Anything He brings in will be more than we deserve and only a taste of what He can provide. So we decide to pray for that number. Every night at dinner, we asked Jesus for $10,000 to help us get to Africa. Each time we would pray with Kyle before putting him in his crib, we would pray, "And please provide the $10,000 that we need to move to Africa. In Jesus' name, Amen."
Thus we were praying. We've prayed that every day this month, multiple times. To make practical steps, we began to contact more people. We wrote people who had already expressed an interest in supporting us. We emailed people whom we've never approached about support, but we knew their hearts and trusted that they would be willing to pray about giving. It would be up to the Lord to move hearts to give.
In this process of praying expectantly, I have noticed one thing to be significant - possibly critical. If one is to truly pray in faith, he must be in a position to rely wholly and completely on God, with no backup plan of his own in case the Lord does not answer as planned. In other words, there is often some crucial step that must be taken - some practical sign of surrender - before the Lord will answer the request. Here is what that looked like for me. As I began to pray for this month's $10,000, I was formulating in my mind some financial gimmicks that we could work together to come up with the money. For example, we could try to eliminate budget items we don't need as much, or we could pay everything from our own savings account and then finance the balance with some of our monthly salary, etc. None of these would come up with all the money we needed, but they would at least bring in a good portion of it, "making things easier" on God. My step of faith came on Tuesday, October 9th.
We have been planning on completing two of my ten seminary semesters before leaving in January. My next 8-week term was scheduled to begin on October 22nd, but I hadn't signed up yet. Since hearing about the big financial need, I had talked to Abby about not taking this semester and putting the money towards Africa. "I would rather be a semester behind on my studies than be delayed in going to Africa," I said to her. Looking back, I can see my lack of faith so clearly. I'm sure most of you can as well. I thought I was being wise. I thought I was even being sacrificial, putting my family and ministry ahead of my own goals. But as we prayed through it for the first week of October, Abby was the one to say, "I think you should go ahead and take your semester." The cut-off date for registration was October 10th. I registered on the 9th. And I remember as I signed up thinking, "OK, Lord, that's the last of my plan. There is no way that we'll be able to come up with this money unless you provide it."
I was at work that Tuesday. I actually registered for classes during my lunch break. Around 2:00, Abby called Chick-fil-A and asked for me. She told me that an old family friend who lives about 45 minutes from here just called. We have never heard from him personally and I haven't heard from him at all in probably 10 years or more. He had read of our needs in my parents' newsletter. He was meeting with the other elders of his church the next day at lunch and asked if I would come to share our Africa plans with them. I asked my boss if someone could come in and work for me for a couple of hours the next day. Someone did and I went to the meeting. I was very blessed by my time with the men. I sensed in the elders a very simple and whole-hearted commitment to the Lord and His work. We had a wonderful time fellowshipping together and discussing mission work. Later that evening, our friend called back and said that the church wanted to contribute $5,000 to our expenses. To give you the full perspective on this provision, the church has about 50 members, or 14 families. We ought never to underestimate what God can do with a small group of spirit-filled believers committed to do His will.
This is only one story. Family after family responded to us, committing $1,000 here, $500 there. Some families who already support us monthly committed to send extra for the coming months before we leave. Nearly every day, I have come home from work to Abby saying, "We got another $200 from so and so." Once we were praying in faith, with no backup plan of our own, God began to provide faster than we've seen him provide at any other time in our lives. As of this morning, between the commitments people have sent or pledged this month and the monthly support that will come in during November, we have 100% of our outgoing expenses pledged! We were asking for $10,000. God has brought in over $14,000. Our records won't officially reflect this until all of the pledges are in, but God has provided everything we need - not just half.
As we've prayed, I've anticipated writing this post. I told the Lord that I would. God's purpose in answering prayers is to bring glory to Himself. This is how we were praying: "Lord, please do this, so that we can tell everyone how great You are and how miraculously You've provided." He has. He is. Praise His name and His great power. I pray that this post will motivate each of His children to pray big things in faith, acting in obedience to everything He leads. Give God the chance to prove Himself great!
Monday, October 15, 2012
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Tourist, Open Your Eyes.
This will be the most difficult piece of work I've ever had to write. The story shared here happened to me over two years ago. I have never told this to anyone outside my family and I have never been able to tell it to anyone in my family without choking back tears many times. What happened to me here truly "rocked my world." By definition, I would call it the most traumatic - "psychologically painful" - thing that has happened to me, but that word is usually linked to some type of death or physical injury, which did not happen here. Outside of all things spiritual, nothing has altered my psyche more than this day did. It happened in Mexico. I remember him as "The Man from Chichén Itzá."
In March of 2010, Abby and I were in Mexico, serving as missionaries. Abby's parents came to visit for a week and we had a wonderful time catching up with them. As part of their trip, we decided to take them to Chichén Itzá. Many tourists come through the Yucatan Peninsula and visit this ancient Mayan ruins, famous for its unique architecture indicating the spring and fall equinox. For anyone who has toured Mexico, it is commonly known that local artisans, musicians, and craftsmen set up small shops or tables lining every area that the tourists will walk. To most tourists, this merely adds to the charming atmosphere and cultural beauty of tourist destinations. I felt the same way up until this day.
As the visitors stroll through the sites, each area brings many new Mexicans trying their best to speak English and sell their products to the foreigners. "T-shirt, amigo? I make you good deal. Cheaper than Walmart!" No price they quote you is written on the objects and "haggling" or "bartering" is the common practice. Initially, they will give you some ridiculously high price and then expect you to counter their offer. If you lose interest in their product and walk away, they will lower their price with each step you take. If you return later, still interested, they will likely lower their price again or include another product for free. This makes shopping much more fun to the typical tourist.
We had only been at the site for an hour or so, and I was left with several more hours to observe and learn. God, I felt, was opening my eyes. I began to watch the locals barter and sell to other tourists. Without my chess incident, I wouldn't have noticed the humble Mayan ladies selling beautiful bracelets and hand-woven purses for "One dollar, sir, one dollar?" I wouldn't have seen the poor man desperately following after a group of Americans in Oakley sunglasses, pleading, "Anything, sir, anything you want. Very cheap," or the woman I heard muttering carefully, "Teeee-chirt. Tee-chirt," then approaching a visitor, "Tee-chirt, mam?" The better English the locals spoke, the more attention they received from the Americans, while the Spanish speakers were passed by in confusion.
It was then that I saw the Man from Chichén Itzá. He looked about my age, maybe slightly older. He didn't have a shop or stand like everyone else, but was walking around carrying a big wooden carving. It was beautiful. It was a large rectangle piece, probably 3' x 2', that obviously started as a large single block of wood. It was carved into an elaborate design of animals and plants in a mural format. I only slightly noticed him at first, before a visitor came up to him and was interested in his carving. The man carefully showed his masterpiece to the guest and with his few English words said, "Fifty dollar." I tried to think what a piece like that would cost in the States. I couldn't see it going for less than $100 and more likely $175-$200. The tourist obviously thought it was too much and began to walk away. "No? Tirty dollar?" By now I couldn't look away. There was no way this should happen. I looked carefully over the carving from a short distance away. It was so intricate. I couldn't guess how many days it must have taken to create. And what if one mistake were made? The whole work would be destroyed and need to be restarted. The skill this man must have had and the time he must have put into his work should have earned him a month's salary. The visitor kept shaking his head and walking. "Twenty, sir... Ten dollar." Finally, the man left the tourist. As he turned away, he said something that would forever change my life. Several other Mexicans were standing nearby at their booths. The man passed by them and said, "No sé que más puedo hacer. Tenemos que comer." "I don't know what else I can do. We have to eat."
I was stopped in my tracks. His words sank in. For a moment, I wasn't even sure if I'd heard him correctly, but I watched the faces of the other men as they gave him sympathetic looks, a grimace, and slight nods of agreement. I did hear correctly, and he wasn't the only one in his spot. They all felt his pain; they were all in his shoes. These people, whom I had seen as kind villagers giving the tourists a neat experience and some cute souvenirs, were poor families doing everything they could to scrape out a living - to put food on the table for their children. They were desperate husbands, fathers, wives, mothers, even children, hoping to earn just a small part of the extravagant wealth that passed by them in the pockets of foreigners.
Fortunately, the day was almost over when this happened. We were on our way out. I couldn't stand to be around it anymore. I felt hurt and wounded. It was the truest sense of compassion, of sympathy, I think I've ever felt. When I think of Jesus looking out over the multitudes and being moved with compassion by their estate, my feelings that day are how I imagine He felt. Furthermore, I felt ashamed. I felt embarrassed. I felt disgraced by the money in my wallet and the amounts left in our bank accounts. I found myself asking the Lord, "Why me? Why was I born in such a prosperous land and he into such poverty?" I didn't feel "blessed" as we Americans so often say. I felt as if I'd received a position I didn't deserve and he was worthy of a position much higher than what he was given.
In retrospect, I'm glad the carving wasn't sold for such a pittance. I pray that that dear man was able to find someone with much more of an appreciation for its beauty and his hard work and a much looser grip on his own wallet. But the fact remains that all of the work and toil came down to food on the table, even at the loss of such an effort. I told the scene to the rest of our family who was there, but the event played over and over in my head on the drive home. We drove for probably three hours and I spent at least half of those lost in my thoughts and crying.
Now, a balanced perspective is needed. These were only the thoughts going through my head that day. We in America are indeed blessed by God with material goods more than any others in the world, but God has not given us those blessings to hoard for ourselves. As time has passed, I have not forgotten that day or that man, and I have asked the Lord to shape my thinking on how I live with this new perspective.
In a mercado like this, not everything is genuine. Every shopkeeper claims his work is "hand-painted," "unbreakable," or "almost free." In fact, the chess set that I bought I saw again later that day and the man offered it to me for twelve or fifteen dollars. That wasn't the point. I was glad for what I paid for it. The bartering is not the problem either; that is merely a cultural difference. The problem is when the tourists are so stingy that they basically rob the vendor of the reward of his hard work. However, we need not feel indebted to every single vendor for the diligent effort they "personally" put into their products. They may have purchased it just as you will. Yet others can be seen doing their own work and ought to be compensated fairly for their efforts.
The fresh viewpoint began to affect me immediately. As we left the ruins, we passed by the last few locals and I noticed a man sitting near the entrance with a tool in his hand. He was carving a mask just like the hundreds of others I'd seen there. I glanced over at him just as he sat down in the shade, set the mask and the tool down, and wiped the sweat off of his drenched forehead with a sigh. Crying again, I walked out of the gates. Abby wondered what was going on and I told her. The Lord laid something on my heart then. I tried to get back into the park and a guard stopped me. I asked him, "Please, sir, may I go back in for just a moment? I just need to give something to that man right there." He hesitated a bit, but did allow me back through. I went up to the man and handed him some money. "Sir," I said, "I want to give you this. It's for nothing. I just really appreciate the hard work you do. Your mask is beautiful. I also want you to have this," handing him a gospel tract. "This is the Word of God. It can change your life forever." I don't know how the tract may have affected him; we never really do. I didn't give him the money just so that he would read the tract either. I just wanted him to connect the two. He had probably never been paid in exchange for nothing before, so I wanted him to remember that the person who gave to him with words of appreciation was a Christian.
I don't want to make this story melodramatic. I have tried to describe it with the level of seriousness with which it affected me. To say this incident was traumatic is not to diminish other people who have gone through more devastating experiences - divorce in the family, the loss of a child, or the tragic death of a loved one. The description is really a testimony to what an exceptional life the Lord has given me. I haven't experienced many traumatic events. The only deaths I've experienced closely were of my father's mother and my mother's father, both of whom were believers and were happy to leave this life for the next. But this was a painful incident that has changed my perspective forever. I know it is permanent because just last week I was in a similar market in Mexico and was reminded of the Man from Chichén Itzá. It is very hard for me to be in a place like that now.
I also don't expect that this story will affect my readers to the degree it did me. Yet I write it in the hope that God will use it. It truly and permanently changed me. I pray that many will read this. I pray that this message will reach people I will never meet. I would pray that this post receives 10,000 hits, so that I may know that there are now 10,000 people who may travel to another country, remember the Man from Chichén Itzá and give generously of their resources to help those less fortunate. I pray that this outside perspective will affect us wealthy Americans (and that is all of us) so that we will live our lives in moderation and give of our resources to help those in need around us and around our world. Here I leave my story and its results to God.
As the visitors stroll through the sites, each area brings many new Mexicans trying their best to speak English and sell their products to the foreigners. "T-shirt, amigo? I make you good deal. Cheaper than Walmart!" No price they quote you is written on the objects and "haggling" or "bartering" is the common practice. Initially, they will give you some ridiculously high price and then expect you to counter their offer. If you lose interest in their product and walk away, they will lower their price with each step you take. If you return later, still interested, they will likely lower their price again or include another product for free. This makes shopping much more fun to the typical tourist.
As I walked around that day, I was taken in by the sights, of course. The endless calls from salesmen were interesting at first, but began to get annoying after a while. I did see a chess set, though, that I thought my father would love to have. So I looked at the set and thought, "I'd be willing to pay $20 or so for that." As the marketer approached me, he would ask which set I liked, explain to me what stones the pieces were made of and then offered it to me for $45 or something. It wasn't a ridiculous price and was better than what I would pay in the States, but I didn't have that much and we had to pay for gas on the way home, so I said no thank you and walked on. He stopped me and said that he would give me the smaller set for $20. I wasn't really interested in that set, because it would be more difficult to play on, so I thanked him and left. After taking in some more of the ruins, we had to return the same way and the man waved me over. He had asked his shop owners (his family) about my offer and agreed to give me the set I'd wanted for $20. I was very grateful and the set made a great Christmas gift for my dad. But the event got me thinking.
We had only been at the site for an hour or so, and I was left with several more hours to observe and learn. God, I felt, was opening my eyes. I began to watch the locals barter and sell to other tourists. Without my chess incident, I wouldn't have noticed the humble Mayan ladies selling beautiful bracelets and hand-woven purses for "One dollar, sir, one dollar?" I wouldn't have seen the poor man desperately following after a group of Americans in Oakley sunglasses, pleading, "Anything, sir, anything you want. Very cheap," or the woman I heard muttering carefully, "Teeee-chirt. Tee-chirt," then approaching a visitor, "Tee-chirt, mam?" The better English the locals spoke, the more attention they received from the Americans, while the Spanish speakers were passed by in confusion.It was then that I saw the Man from Chichén Itzá. He looked about my age, maybe slightly older. He didn't have a shop or stand like everyone else, but was walking around carrying a big wooden carving. It was beautiful. It was a large rectangle piece, probably 3' x 2', that obviously started as a large single block of wood. It was carved into an elaborate design of animals and plants in a mural format. I only slightly noticed him at first, before a visitor came up to him and was interested in his carving. The man carefully showed his masterpiece to the guest and with his few English words said, "Fifty dollar." I tried to think what a piece like that would cost in the States. I couldn't see it going for less than $100 and more likely $175-$200. The tourist obviously thought it was too much and began to walk away. "No? Tirty dollar?" By now I couldn't look away. There was no way this should happen. I looked carefully over the carving from a short distance away. It was so intricate. I couldn't guess how many days it must have taken to create. And what if one mistake were made? The whole work would be destroyed and need to be restarted. The skill this man must have had and the time he must have put into his work should have earned him a month's salary. The visitor kept shaking his head and walking. "Twenty, sir... Ten dollar." Finally, the man left the tourist. As he turned away, he said something that would forever change my life. Several other Mexicans were standing nearby at their booths. The man passed by them and said, "No sé que más puedo hacer. Tenemos que comer." "I don't know what else I can do. We have to eat."
I was stopped in my tracks. His words sank in. For a moment, I wasn't even sure if I'd heard him correctly, but I watched the faces of the other men as they gave him sympathetic looks, a grimace, and slight nods of agreement. I did hear correctly, and he wasn't the only one in his spot. They all felt his pain; they were all in his shoes. These people, whom I had seen as kind villagers giving the tourists a neat experience and some cute souvenirs, were poor families doing everything they could to scrape out a living - to put food on the table for their children. They were desperate husbands, fathers, wives, mothers, even children, hoping to earn just a small part of the extravagant wealth that passed by them in the pockets of foreigners.
Fortunately, the day was almost over when this happened. We were on our way out. I couldn't stand to be around it anymore. I felt hurt and wounded. It was the truest sense of compassion, of sympathy, I think I've ever felt. When I think of Jesus looking out over the multitudes and being moved with compassion by their estate, my feelings that day are how I imagine He felt. Furthermore, I felt ashamed. I felt embarrassed. I felt disgraced by the money in my wallet and the amounts left in our bank accounts. I found myself asking the Lord, "Why me? Why was I born in such a prosperous land and he into such poverty?" I didn't feel "blessed" as we Americans so often say. I felt as if I'd received a position I didn't deserve and he was worthy of a position much higher than what he was given.
In retrospect, I'm glad the carving wasn't sold for such a pittance. I pray that that dear man was able to find someone with much more of an appreciation for its beauty and his hard work and a much looser grip on his own wallet. But the fact remains that all of the work and toil came down to food on the table, even at the loss of such an effort. I told the scene to the rest of our family who was there, but the event played over and over in my head on the drive home. We drove for probably three hours and I spent at least half of those lost in my thoughts and crying.
Now, a balanced perspective is needed. These were only the thoughts going through my head that day. We in America are indeed blessed by God with material goods more than any others in the world, but God has not given us those blessings to hoard for ourselves. As time has passed, I have not forgotten that day or that man, and I have asked the Lord to shape my thinking on how I live with this new perspective.
In a mercado like this, not everything is genuine. Every shopkeeper claims his work is "hand-painted," "unbreakable," or "almost free." In fact, the chess set that I bought I saw again later that day and the man offered it to me for twelve or fifteen dollars. That wasn't the point. I was glad for what I paid for it. The bartering is not the problem either; that is merely a cultural difference. The problem is when the tourists are so stingy that they basically rob the vendor of the reward of his hard work. However, we need not feel indebted to every single vendor for the diligent effort they "personally" put into their products. They may have purchased it just as you will. Yet others can be seen doing their own work and ought to be compensated fairly for their efforts.
The fresh viewpoint began to affect me immediately. As we left the ruins, we passed by the last few locals and I noticed a man sitting near the entrance with a tool in his hand. He was carving a mask just like the hundreds of others I'd seen there. I glanced over at him just as he sat down in the shade, set the mask and the tool down, and wiped the sweat off of his drenched forehead with a sigh. Crying again, I walked out of the gates. Abby wondered what was going on and I told her. The Lord laid something on my heart then. I tried to get back into the park and a guard stopped me. I asked him, "Please, sir, may I go back in for just a moment? I just need to give something to that man right there." He hesitated a bit, but did allow me back through. I went up to the man and handed him some money. "Sir," I said, "I want to give you this. It's for nothing. I just really appreciate the hard work you do. Your mask is beautiful. I also want you to have this," handing him a gospel tract. "This is the Word of God. It can change your life forever." I don't know how the tract may have affected him; we never really do. I didn't give him the money just so that he would read the tract either. I just wanted him to connect the two. He had probably never been paid in exchange for nothing before, so I wanted him to remember that the person who gave to him with words of appreciation was a Christian.
I don't want to make this story melodramatic. I have tried to describe it with the level of seriousness with which it affected me. To say this incident was traumatic is not to diminish other people who have gone through more devastating experiences - divorce in the family, the loss of a child, or the tragic death of a loved one. The description is really a testimony to what an exceptional life the Lord has given me. I haven't experienced many traumatic events. The only deaths I've experienced closely were of my father's mother and my mother's father, both of whom were believers and were happy to leave this life for the next. But this was a painful incident that has changed my perspective forever. I know it is permanent because just last week I was in a similar market in Mexico and was reminded of the Man from Chichén Itzá. It is very hard for me to be in a place like that now.
I also don't expect that this story will affect my readers to the degree it did me. Yet I write it in the hope that God will use it. It truly and permanently changed me. I pray that many will read this. I pray that this message will reach people I will never meet. I would pray that this post receives 10,000 hits, so that I may know that there are now 10,000 people who may travel to another country, remember the Man from Chichén Itzá and give generously of their resources to help those less fortunate. I pray that this outside perspective will affect us wealthy Americans (and that is all of us) so that we will live our lives in moderation and give of our resources to help those in need around us and around our world. Here I leave my story and its results to God.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Sharing a New Perspective
There are many times in my life when I want to write. Some people say that writing helps them to think. I am not typically like that. I do all of my thinking first and then, halfway through, wish I'd been writing it down - or feel like I should. Yet most of those times I don't write, because of one single reason - I want it to be taken seriously.
In this light, several factors often keep me from writing down my thoughts. 1. I don't want to appear as if I have all of the answers. Many people come back from a missions trip or other cross-cultural experience with a new perspective on the world and suddenly know how to solve all of the world's problems. If I appear this way, my writing will not be taken seriously. 2. I don't like to bring up questions before I feel like I have a good answer for them. Yet in many situations, this is where I find myself. I see a problem that affects me in a very deep way, but I don't know the way to set it straight, so I don't want to write it down without some kind of solution in mind. 3. I don't want to appear overly emotional or reactionary. I have had a few incidents which have truly "rocked my world" or shaken me up in a way where I can never again be settled. They are deep and dramatic incidences that one may never understand unless he goes through it himself. While I often process my responses quickly and begin living with a new perspective, I usually won't write about it immediately. Rather I will take the time to let it sink in, meditate on it, look for it elsewhere, and develop life principles from it. Such is the case with what will be my first full post on this blog ("Tourist, Open Your Eyes"). 4. I don't want to be seen as "holier than thou." In many incidences where I want to write, I worry that I would communicate an attitude of superiority to any readers. I am an American. As such, my whole life has been from an American perspective and with a Christian worldview. Thus many lessons I learn run contrary to my American culture. My target audience (if I would say that I have one) would be a typical American Christian. I don't want to write, then, as if I am the great cross-cultural Christian preaching down at my lowly American comrades. That will not, and should not, be taken seriously. 5. Finally, I don't often write about things from which I am in a position to benefit. For example, I have many thoughts concerning mission work and missionary support-raising or deputation, but I don't write those, because my thoughts could seem self-promoting or self-indulgent. Though I want those thoughts to be shared and will preach them fervently on behalf of others, I feel it is best to wait until my family is past the support-raising stage to write them.
All of this being said, I have never taken it upon myself to write much. However, as I've thought through the lessons I'm learning, I've realized that I have an opportunity that not many people have. The Lord has led my family to serve in international missions and we will be learning many lessons along the way. I've begun to feel that, provided I can communicate these lessons clearly and carefully, many people who will not be able to experience cross-cultural ministry as we will may also benefit from the lessons we learn. Indeed, I have felt in may even be selfish to keep all of this learning to myself. God has called us to the ministry and that ministry is to people. So whether it be the people of Africa whom we are going to serve or the people in the States who are giving of themselves to enable us to go to Africa, I want to minister to their needs, impact their lives, and challenge them with the things with which the Lord challenges us.
I don't have any particular plan of what or when to write, but from this point forward, as God teaches me and I am able to process it, I want to pass on those lessons through this blog for all to see and read and, Lord-willing, learn.
- Jonathan St.Clair
In this light, several factors often keep me from writing down my thoughts. 1. I don't want to appear as if I have all of the answers. Many people come back from a missions trip or other cross-cultural experience with a new perspective on the world and suddenly know how to solve all of the world's problems. If I appear this way, my writing will not be taken seriously. 2. I don't like to bring up questions before I feel like I have a good answer for them. Yet in many situations, this is where I find myself. I see a problem that affects me in a very deep way, but I don't know the way to set it straight, so I don't want to write it down without some kind of solution in mind. 3. I don't want to appear overly emotional or reactionary. I have had a few incidents which have truly "rocked my world" or shaken me up in a way where I can never again be settled. They are deep and dramatic incidences that one may never understand unless he goes through it himself. While I often process my responses quickly and begin living with a new perspective, I usually won't write about it immediately. Rather I will take the time to let it sink in, meditate on it, look for it elsewhere, and develop life principles from it. Such is the case with what will be my first full post on this blog ("Tourist, Open Your Eyes"). 4. I don't want to be seen as "holier than thou." In many incidences where I want to write, I worry that I would communicate an attitude of superiority to any readers. I am an American. As such, my whole life has been from an American perspective and with a Christian worldview. Thus many lessons I learn run contrary to my American culture. My target audience (if I would say that I have one) would be a typical American Christian. I don't want to write, then, as if I am the great cross-cultural Christian preaching down at my lowly American comrades. That will not, and should not, be taken seriously. 5. Finally, I don't often write about things from which I am in a position to benefit. For example, I have many thoughts concerning mission work and missionary support-raising or deputation, but I don't write those, because my thoughts could seem self-promoting or self-indulgent. Though I want those thoughts to be shared and will preach them fervently on behalf of others, I feel it is best to wait until my family is past the support-raising stage to write them.
All of this being said, I have never taken it upon myself to write much. However, as I've thought through the lessons I'm learning, I've realized that I have an opportunity that not many people have. The Lord has led my family to serve in international missions and we will be learning many lessons along the way. I've begun to feel that, provided I can communicate these lessons clearly and carefully, many people who will not be able to experience cross-cultural ministry as we will may also benefit from the lessons we learn. Indeed, I have felt in may even be selfish to keep all of this learning to myself. God has called us to the ministry and that ministry is to people. So whether it be the people of Africa whom we are going to serve or the people in the States who are giving of themselves to enable us to go to Africa, I want to minister to their needs, impact their lives, and challenge them with the things with which the Lord challenges us.
- Jonathan St.Clair
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